


after midnight

by 3amscribbles



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amscribbles/pseuds/3amscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, because he learned early on, before they’d even gotten together, that it was the biggest thing he had to give away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	after midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [ here](http://3am-scribbles.tumblr.com/post/141195015465/they-are-lethal-the-two-of-them-poisonous-even).

They are lethal, the two of them. Poisonous, even though they bite differently. Robert thinks about it some nights, when Aaron’s rolled forward in his sleep and his grip on Robert’s hand has loosened. He hasn’t been divorced for too long, and he won’t be thinking about another marriage for a very long time, but he does think about how lethal they are, and how maybe, someday, he’d like that word engraved in their rings.

Because he’s never met someone who can tear him apart so messily and still put him back together, and he doesn’t think that his words ever sunk as deep into Chrissie as they do when he aims them at Aaron. Doesn’t think that he ever was as careful when he picked them back out, either, touch by careful touch with a soft dose of regret spun around his words. They are lethal, the two of them. Especially to each other.

He bit hard, today. Was like an abandoned dog in a corner, lashing out at the hand that was trying to feed him, because he’s still not used to it. Still doesn’t seem to remember what it’s like to keep his guard down when someone cares about him. In the past he’s always had a comeback ready for the inevitable wrong turns, and a weak fist clenched behind his back, ready to latch on to the collar of whoever have tried to poke at his insecurities.

Aaron knows them all; the cracks beneath Robert’s skin, the seams that will split if he presses the pad of a finger to them. And sometimes it doesn’t matter that Robert has been there to push a thread through all of _Aaron’s_ abandoned wounds, or that he’s seen the demons that have permanent residence in Aaron’s ribcage, because it still feels like Aaron will turn the needle at him and pierce him just to show that he can. It’s what everyone else have done in the past.

It gets cold, sometimes, to be like this. To bare his teeth and watch the hurt roll over Aaron’s face in waves, because the aftermath is a silent home, an empty kitchen chair, and a made up half of the bed where Aaron should be. It’s a chill in his bones that makes his veins tremble. Something that the blanket can’t brush away when he curls it under his chin, because the image of Aaron’s twisted features doesn’t fade from his mind. Doesn’t make the dread dissolve in his stomach, but just keeps it stirring in there, reminding him of all the times Aaron has tried to give up on him in the past.

He shivers in his pants, on the first step of the stairs. The floorboards creak and his mind roars, and Aaron breathes so silently on the sofa that Robert shouldn’t find him there. But this is something he knows – _Aaron_ is something he knows, inside and out, seams and all. He knows that Aaron bites back with silence, and that the quiet runs along his contours and presses at his limbs until he is curled in on himself, settled into the darkness.

So his pushes through it, the darkness, with knowledge and desperation rushing in his quivering veins, hoping that the fight has lost some strength. That it can fade with every inch he closes between them as he pushes his knees to the sofa and blinks down at the crossed arms over Aaron’s chest, the worn sleeves over Aaron’s hands.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, because he learned early on, before they’d even gotten together, that it was the biggest thing he had to give away. He held his apologies close to his heart, twisted into the firm belief that he never actually did anything wrong. That there always was a reason for his actions, and that they stemmed from someone else’s actions.

It’s not like that with Aaron. He were never out to get Robert like everyone else are, doesn’t ever try to spark a fire in Robert’s mind like that. And Robert is painfully sorry every time he burns him, anyway.

Aaron unfolds under his gaze, a slow unwrapping of the best present Robert’s ever been in slight possession of. He rolls to his back, lets his legs stretch out upon the cushions, but leaves his arms in a knot across his torso, shielding himself, his wounds, the invisible threads beneath the visible ones of his shirt.

Robert can’t have it. The chill in his bones rattles him into action and he finds room for a knee between both of Aaron’s; uses it to push them apart so that he can crawl in fully and settle himself there, steadying his weight with his hands on Aaron’s thighs.

Aaron’s been watching it all through slits of his eyes, unimpressed, huffing slightly now that Robert’s gotten to work on his arms, untying them carefully, giving Aaron a choice.

“What are you doing?”

Robert swallows. He doesn’t bother to fake confidence with a smile, it’s not how they do it anymore, and it wouldn’t be visible in the dark. “It’s what I’m not doing.”

Aaron sighs. His patience with Robert has grown since he realized that his life wasn’t a competition anymore. That it wasn’t a matter of fighting over Robert’s attention. That, in Robert’s eyes, it was Aaron himself that was the prize. On days like these it’s obvious that the patience runs thin, though, worn away by whatever nasty comment Robert has spat out, and too hurt to coddle him. Robert likes that – the fact that Aaron doesn’t let his kind soul take over when it comes to him.

“What _aren’t_ you doing?”

“Letting you leave,” Robert says, sliding Aaron’s arms out of the way and easing himself down, chest to chest, with his temple pressed to Aaron’s collarbone.

“Wasn’t gonna,” Aaron replies. “You know I never do.”

Robert does know, deep down. It doesn’t stop him from worrying. The only thing that stops it, for a moment, is this. The rise and fall of Aaron beneath him, strained by the excess weight, but so very real in the way his breathing strains as it leaps from his lips.

Aaron’s arms encircle him eventually, giving in as he confirms Robert’s thoughts, “You’re heavier than you look.”

Robert presses a snort into Aaron’s shirt, curling his fingers into it, looking for that extra bit of security Aaron seems to find in the fabric. “That’d be all the guilt. It spreads evenly in all my crevices. Makes new lines to live in on my forehead.”

Aaron runs his thumb at the nape of Robert’s neck, along the line that’s formed there now that his head is tilted upwards. It’s enough to stop his veins from trembling, warming him up from the outside, all the way into his bones, proving what they are when their teeth are clamped shut. When there are no corners encasing them, and no instincts bringing the worst out of them.

They’re lethal, the two of them. Poisonous, even though they bite differently. Robert thinks about it some nights, and how he wouldn’t change it for the world.


End file.
